


Grasping Straws

by atnuka



Series: Grasping Straws [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And Tony Gives Him One, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Eventual Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Peter Parker, POV Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter goes back in time, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Endgame, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Self-Hatred, Time Travel, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, established Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, eventually, oof time travel shenanigans, spiderson, temporary major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atnuka/pseuds/atnuka
Summary: Peter heard a clank in front of him, and the sound of repulsors powering up. That had to be the Colonel, or Ms. Potts, but then—“Rogers, I’ll give you one chance to explain what you did to the kid before I blast you to hell.”Tony Stark’s voice, reverberating through his helmet but loud and clear, was unmistakable.——Or, Peter makes a catastrophic mistake after the third snap and returns to the battle at Leipzig airport with his incomplete knowledge of the future.Updates every Thursday and Sunday.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & T'Challa, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Shuri & T'Challa (Marvel), Tony Stark & Avengers Team, Tony Stark & James Rhodes, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers
Series: Grasping Straws [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911415
Comments: 80
Kudos: 513





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into multi-chapter fanfics, which is still a work in progress. I have a good chunk of it written, but there's still no end in sight.
> 
> I started this mainly to write my own take on the Peter Goes Back to CW AU, where he has basically no knowledge of how everything is fixed. IronDad is definitely my favourite relationship in the MCU, so that will be the focus of this story, though I’ll try not to neglect the actual plot.
> 
> As I read the CA:CW script, however, I realised that the dissolution of the team and the Snap really made Steve’s character development stop and take a sharp turn. Endgame subsequently crushed his character arc (imo), so I’ll try to give him a chance to develop a healthier relationship here.
> 
> Line breaks are written in Unicode and there is some Creator's Style peppered throughout the story, and while both are recommended, the story can function without either.
> 
> Expect minor changes, such as wording or visual design, since I consider the entire work to be in progress until the last chapter is posted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the final snap, Peter gets to Mr. Stark a little too late and makes a error with rippling consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: 🕷 Peter Parker; ⎊ Tony Stark

🕷 🕷 🕷

  
Dust drifted across the battlefield, settling on the acres of trees razed to the ground and on the remaining combatants. 

While the remnants of the final members of the Black Order and Thanos himself scattered with the gentle breeze flowing through the destroyed compound, Peter propelled himself past injured and battle-worn heroes to Mr. Stark’s side. All of them were facing the place where Thanos had stood moments before, certain of his victory.

As he approached, Peter heard FRIDAY quietly report, “Life functions critical.” When he was within a few yards of the area where Iron Man had defeated Thanos, Peter began to see the severity of the damage that using the gauntlet and its embedded stones had caused Mr. Stark. Ms. Potts and the Colonel were beside him already, quietly speaking words of comfort as he lay immobile. The parts of his armour still intact were fused to his skin and smoking slightly, the worst of it centred around his right arm and side of the face. 

Reaching the group of three, Peter skidded to a halt and knelt by his mentor’s right side.

Colonel Rhodes closed his eyes for a moment, gripping his best friend’s armoured hand, then drew back to allow Peter unimpeded access to Mr. Stark.

Peter retracted his nano-suit back into its containment unit, leaving him unmasked in his old spider-suit. “Mr. Stark... Tony... it’s okay, you’re okay... Mr. Stark, we won. You did it, sir, please...”

Ms. Potts bowed her head, her strawberry blonde hair covering her face. Her tears fell, splattering on her fiancé’s dusty, burnt armour. 

Behind them, the rest of the Avengers, Guardians, Wakandans, and the others who fought alongside them took a knee, paying their respect to the man who had ensured their victory at great personal cost. 

Seeing the despair and resignation on the faces surrounding him, Peter felt anger well up inside him. They couldn’t give up on Mr. Stark, not after what he had done. They needed to keep fighting for him, like he had fought for them. 

“Mr. Stark, please, you’re going to be okay. Colonel Rhodes, what can we do? How can we help him?” Peter asked insistently, turning slightly to face the grief-stricken man. 

The Colonel shook his head slightly, unable to respond, and gripped Peter’s shoulder. 

His urgency increasing, Peter turned back to Mr. Stark. “Ms. Potts, _please_... there has to be something, some _way_ we can help him!”

Ms. Potts didn’t show any sign that she had heard him, her tears still falling fast and her hands caressing Mr. Stark’s left cheek. 

Several sparks flew up, drawing Peter’s attention back to the gleaming stones set into the red gauntlet and the Lichtenberg figures running up Mr. Stark’s arm, neck, and face. 

His rage bloomed at the sight, and Peter lunged forward, startling Colonel Rhodes and the watching heroes. Grasping the plates at the armour’s wrist, Peter wrenched the gold-titanium nano-particles apart to remove the gauntlet from Mr. Stark. 

He turned away, gripping the gauntlet tightly in both hands, unsure of what to do next. His instincts shouted at him to _get_ _away_ , _let_ _go_ , and _run_ , but several things happening in quick succession prevented him from following through with any of those gut-reactions. 

The Colonel’s hand, jarred from its previous position by Peter’s sudden movement, slammed back onto his shoulder. Unprepared, Peter fumbled the gauntlet, regaining his grip on it thanks to his spidery stickiness. 

As he stumbled, Peter’s eyes met those of Captain America, who was half-risen from his kneeling position. In that moment, his mind flashed—absurdly, inexplicably—back to the moment he had first made eye contact with the Captain. _Queens_ , he had said, receiving a chuckle and _Brooklyn_ in response. 

A split second later, Peter’s hands exploded with pain. It was unbearable, all-consuming, racing up his arms before he could scream. And then scream he did, loudly and abruptly, as his spine arched backwards and his skin, his muscles, his bones burned. _Please, stop... please, no, it_ hurts _... Mr. Stark,_ please _... make it stop..._

His grip on the gauntlet tightened until its sides were crushed by his strength. The green stone, Doctor Strange’s stone, was clenched in his right hand and the orange and red stones were in his left. The pain was building, taking over his mind, his soul, and as he screamed, Peter remembered Mr. Stark saying, _You’re done. You did a good job. Stay down._

He was done. Peter collapsed onto the ground next to Mr. Stark’s body, surrounded by heroes who had launched themselves at him when he had first lunged for the gauntlet. He heard Ms. Potts yell, “Peter, _no_! Rhodey, help him!” As they continued their futile attempts to wrench the stones out of his fists, Peter’s eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness.

  
🕷 🕷 🕷

  
“Hey, kid? Can you hear me?!”

A man was shouting at him and tapping his shoulders. Peter tried to pry open his eyes, but they were glued shut with dried tears. When he lifted a hand to rub his eyes clear, the lingering pain in his arm made him flinch violently and Peter tore his eyes open.

“Stark! Tony, get over here! No, Clint, don’t shoot! Scott, abort plan. We’ve got a situation.”

Blinking rapidly, Peter could make out the blurred shape of Captain America hovering over him. Instinctively, despite his disorientation and the pain radiating throughout his body, Peter recoiled, scrambling away from the Captain until his back hit the jet bridge.

“Whoa, kid, it’s alright. I’m just here to help,” the Captain reassured him, withdrawing his hands and raising them until they were within Peter’s sight. “God, you can’t be more than 15. What was Tony...”

But Peter stopped listening. Ignoring the ache in his hands, he rubbed his eyes frantically in an attempt to regain his bearings.

He heard a clank in front of him, and the sound of repulsors powering up. That had to be the Colonel, or Ms. Potts, but then—

“Rogers, I’ll give you one chance to explain what you did to the kid before I blast you to hell.”

Tony Stark’s voice, reverberating through his helmet but loud and clear, was unmistakable.

Interrupting Captain America mid-sentence, Peter croaked, “Mr. Stark?”

Without turning around, Mr. Stark said, with a firm but concerned tone, “Underoos, you alright? Where’s your mask?”

Not pausing to think, Peter launched himself at Mr. Stark, wrapping himself around his back and clinging tightly.

Mr. Stark stumbled forward. “Holy _shit_ , kid! What—?”

“You’re okay, Mr. Stark. We won, it’s over.” Peter shut his eyes and pressed his cheek against the back of the Iron Man armour, squeezing hard enough to leave an impression in the metal.

  
⎊ ⎊ ⎊

  
“Uh, Cap? Isn’t this one on Stark’s side? Why’s he trying to crush him?” The tiny-big guy was approaching them warily, now normal-sized and wearing a suit made of Hank Pym’s tech, with his fists raised defensively.

“Hey, kid, I’m not sure we’ve won just yet, but you’re okay, right?” Tony disengaged his helmet, watching Cap and the newcomer carefully. Peter refused to reply, his hands pressing deeper into the armour.

He met Steve’s eyes. “Call ‘em off? Truce. Just until the kid’s alright.”

Cap nodded shortly, raising his hand to his comms. “Team, stand down. Sam? We may need you down here.”

Tony did the same. Then, ignoring the other guy’s curious expression and the sounds of the others approaching their little group, he turned his attention back to the kid wrapped like a koala bear around him. “Spidey, I need you to work with me here. Just let go, and we can figure this out.”

Feeling Peter shake his head, Tony sighed. “I’m not going anywhere, kid. Would you at least let go so I can get out of the suit before I can’t breathe?”

Reluctantly, Peter drew back, though he remained close by Tony’s side. Tony stepped out of the suit—frowning at the spider-kid indentation on it as he ordered it into sentry mode—before he stumbled back as the kid resumed his koala-impersonation and buried his face in Tony’s chest. He wrapped his arms around the kid hesitantly, knowing his sticky powers were enough to keep him from falling.

“Steve, what’s going on? Who’s the kid with Stark?” Wilson was close now, wings retracted, with Nat and Vision close behind.

“The kid is Spider-man, and his identity is his secret to share.” Tony sent meaningful looks to Natasha and Vision, warning them not to pry further. “Wilson, you remember your pararescue training? Take a look over Spidey here and make sure he’s in good shape.”

Wilson shot a glance at Cap, who nodded, and removed his goggles as he drew closer. “Spider-man, can you open your eyes? You don’t need to let go of St-Tony just yet.”

Tony watched as Peter turned his head to look at Wilson, who smiled encouragingly.

“That’s better. Does anything hurt?”

Peter shook his head silently, tight-lipped.

Cap frowned. “His hands are definitely hurting. He nearly went boneless earlier under the jet bridge.” His voice faded as he realised the implications of his words.

“A _jet_ _bridge_?” Tony growled. “You dropped a _jet_ _bridge_ on him?”

Before he could order FRIDAY to take aim against the Captain once again, Nat took a step forward.

“Tony, focus on the kid. Can FRIDAY run diagnostics on him?”

Tony’s head snapped away from Rogers, now searching the ground for the spider-suit’s mask. “His suit has an AI too, for emergencies. If we can find his mask...”

Cap, his Pym-sponsored lackey, Nat, and Vision, now joined by Barton, spread out, looking for the mask worn by the spider-kid.

Wanda, the Wakandan prince, and Barnes stood a distance away, the latter two eyeing each other closely for sudden movements.

Rhodey went directly to Tony’s side. “Tones, you good?” he asked in an undertone, after retracting his helmet. “And the kid?”

Relaxing slightly at the appearance of his oldest friend, Tony used Rhodey’s help to ease himself onto the ground, leaning against the alert Iron Man suit.

“We’re alright, platypus. Aren’t we, Underoos?” Unsure of how to make the situation better, Tony began awkwardly rubbing the kid’s back with his right hand, only to make contact with an unfamiliar object attached to the back of his suit.

“Hey!” Tony snapped his fingers loudly, causing everyone to startle and turn towards him. Peter had a particularly violent reaction, slapping his hands against his ears and whimpering. “Oh, sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He cupped his left hand against the back of the kid’s head, gently combing through his tangled curls.

Ignoring Rhodey’s slight smile and Nat’s smirk, Tony pressed on. “Did any of you attach this thing to the kid? Cap, you know about this?”

Steve shook his head in denial, along with the others. “No, we didn’t have anything like that.”

Natasha spoke up. “It looks like advanced tech to me, even more than something you‘ve come up with, Tony.” She directed an inquisitive look at T’Challa.

The prince—king, now—shook his head gravely. “I have no such technology in my possession, though I cannot deny that it bears some resemblance to tech created in Wakanda. I can say that I bear no ill-will to the young spider.”

“Kid? Underoos, I need you to talk to me. Do you know what’s on your back?”

Wilson crouched next to the pair. “Spidey, take a couple of deep breaths. I promise, the fighting’s stopped and you’re safe.”

Peter withdrew his hands from his ears and raised his head, still in Tony’s lap. Voice hoarse, he said, “It’s the containment unit for my nano-suit.”

Tony froze, taken aback. “Nano-suit... you mean, you figured out nano-tech?” He knew the kid was smart and resourceful, but that seemed like a stretch. Tony himself had only just begun experimenting with nano-particles.

“No,” Peter shook his head and leaned back, looking Tony in the eyes. “Karen?”

At the unspoken command, the containment unit dissolved into streams of metallic particles that encased Peter in a gold, black, and red suit—hot-rod red, to be precise.

His mask retracted smoothly, revealing Peter’s solemn expression. “You did, Mr. Stark. Or you will, in a couple years.”


	2. The Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to tell Tony that he's from the future, but the team is distracted by an incoming threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a day early in honour of Chadwick Boseman, an incredible actor and an inspirational man.
> 
> This story is gaining a fourth POV (as you might have guessed from the updated summary). I was waiting until I had a better understanding of T’Challa, but I’ll try my best to do justice to Boseman’s phenomenal interpretation and portrayal of the character.
> 
> T’Challa’s POV won’t appear for a few chapters, but he’s a cornerstone of this story now. I’d love your feedback about his character whenever he appears. Also, I'm sure you've noticed the Unicode line breaks for each character by now, so if you have any suggestions for T'Challa, leave a comment. The characters have to be available as part of a web-safe font.
> 
> POV: ⎊ Tony Stark

⎊ ⎊ ⎊

Tony began running his hands through Peter’s hair, checking for bumps or cuts on his head. “Wilson,” he ordered, forcing himself to remain calm, “check him for a concussion.”

“Ow, Mr. Stark!” Peter complained, trying to bat Tony’s hands away as his fingers got caught in one of his tangled curls. “I’m fine, I don’t have a concussion.”

“P—kid,” Tony corrected himself quickly. “You’re not making sense. Let Wilson look you over until we can get you to the compound. Don’t think I’m going to forget that you hacked the suit the same day I gave it to you.”

“Okay, Spider-man. Do you have a headache or blurred vision?” Wilson pulled his phone out of a pocket and shined his flashlight in Peter’s eyes, making him blink rapidly.

“No! I’m _fine_ , just listen—“

Cap interrupted, “He was unconscious for about three minutes after I... uh, got the bridge off him. I did the tap-and-shout, and when he woke up, he was confused and squinting.”

Peter shot Steve a look of betrayal. “I was only confused because I wasn’t here before. And yes, it was a little blurry in the beginning, but not anymore! Just look at the suit! I didn’t have that before, did I? Mr. Stark—”

“He flinched earlier, when I snapped my fingers,” Tony remembered. “Noise sensitivity’s bad, right?”

Wilson nodded sympathetically. “Sorry, kid, it seems like you’ve got a pretty severe concussion there. Do you know where you are now?”

“Yes! Germany, June 2016. You guys are fighting over the Accords or something, right? And Captain America and Mr. Barnes are going after that evil not-HYDRA-but-basically-HYDRA dude who bombed the UN?” Peter went on, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction at the shock on everyone’s faces. “Mr. Stark, there’s _no way_ I could have made this suit, okay? It’s nano-tech. Your armour isn’t even made of this stuff yet. You give it to me in 2018. And technically, I did hack it, but not now.”

Before he could continue, Peter was interrupted by a smooth, even voice with an Irish lilt.

“Boss, Secretary Ross’ deadline ends in 10 hours, but his flight departs from the JCTC in 43 minutes. German troops are expected to arrive in 57 minutes to assist in taking Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes, Mr. Barton, Mr. Wilson, Ms. Maximoff, and Mr. Lang in by force.” FRIDAY’s report, spoken through the suit’s speakers, jolted everyone back into the present.

“Sorry Spidey, we’ve got a bigger problem on the way.” Barton directed his next words at Tony. “Two of your German safe houses were in the SHIELD database, in Munich and near Hamburg. Ross’ll be able to find us at those. Do you have any other places nearby?”

Tony hesitated. “Can we talk this over, Cap? Or should I send the kid home so we can return to the fighting? Because if there’s some truth to another agent being behind the bombing, we”—he shot a look at T’Challa, who nodded his assent—“will listen to your side of the story.”

Before Steve could speak, Barnes spoke up for the first time. “That operative is going after some of HYDRA’s old assets. He used me to find out where they are.”

Eyeing him carefully, Tony continued. “Okay, you’re going to have to fill me in on that. I’ve got a property near Dresden, not under my name. Ross will find it eventually, but it’ll buy us enough time to come up with a plan.

“Kid, Happy’s close by to take you back to Berlin. After a couple of hours, you’ll return—“

“No!" Peter protested. "Let me come with you, Mr. Stark, please. Something bad’s going to happen. I don’t know what exactly but you get hurt and I can help! Please—“

“No,” Tony said, firm in his denial. “You’re going back to the compound, and you’ll stay there until I get back. Hai capito?”

“But—“

“ _Hai capito_?”

Peter huffed in irritation, but he gave in. “Ho capito.”

“That’s settled, then. Great. Now, Rhodey, help me get the spider-kid off my lap before I lose feeling in my legs completely.”

⎊ ⎊ ⎊

Tony pushed the wooden door open, ducking under the low door frame. “Trautes Heim, Glück allein.”

The cabin was situated at the edge of a small forest clearing near the village of Grillenburg. They had landed their two commandeered Quinjets and T’Challa’s Wakandan jet in the trees nearby, hidden from anyone flying overhead.

The others followed Tony inside, cramming themselves into the entryway. Reluctantly, they’d left their larger weapons and suits outside, after Tony’s warning that space would be tight. Moving into the kitchen, Tony picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses before settling himself in one of the two plush arm chairs in the living area. Watching the others take in the rather quaint cabin, Tony smirked to himself as he poured himself a glass of 1959 Riesling.

Seeing Nat and Rhodey’s eyebrows raise at the hand-made, rickety furniture—after all, they were best acquainted with Tony’s preference for luxurious, modern decor—Tony explained, “This was my mom’s first purchase after marrying Howard.”

Inexplicably, Cap winced at the mention of Tony’s parents, while Barnes became stony-faced.

Making a mental note of those odd reactions, Tony took a sip and continued, “We didn’t come here often, but it’s under her Foundation’s name now. Ross can find it with enough digging, but it won’t immediately be connected to me.”

Rhodey was the first to follow Tony’s lead, claiming the second arm chair and refusing the glass of wine Tony offered him.

Nat and Vision chose seats on the sofa spanning the living room and at the dining table respectively. Tony offered her the second glass of wine, which she accepted. Wanda hesitantly sat across from Vision, with Barton sitting next to her and close behind Nat.

Barnes remained standing next to the couch closest to the door, and Wilson and Cap took seats next to each other on it. T’Challa crossed the room and perched himself on a counter stool just outside the kitchen, folding his hands over his crossed legs regally.

Lang was left standing awkwardly by the door, clearly torn between the cushion next to Natasha and the last remaining dining chair across the room. Aware of the lingering silence, he eased himself onto the sofa cushion furthest away from Nat, eyeing her warily.

“So,” Tony said abruptly, setting his glass down and clapping his hands. “Anyone want some wine?”

No one spoke.

Internally disappointed at the lack of response, he moved on. “Alright, you can help yourselves later. Who’s going to kick off the explanations?”

Tony watched as Steve looked first at Barnes, then at Natasha, then Wilson, before twisting back to communicate silently with Barnes.

After several moments of prolonged silence, Tony spoke up again, irritation bleeding into his words, “I’m throwing you a bone here, Rogers. It’s time to give something up.”

“It’s not that easy, Tony,” Steve began stiltedly. “A lot’s happened since...”

“Boss, priority upload from Berlin police.”

Tony held up a finger to silence the Captain’s reluctant reply. “Hold that thought.“ He tapped his ear-piece twice, transferring the audio to his phone’s speakers and placing the device on the slanted coffee table.

“What are we looking at, FRIDAY?” Tony’s voice redirected the group’s attention to the incoming message.

Using Tony’s phone, FRIDAY projected a holographic profile of a bespectacled man with greying black hair over the table in the middle of the living area.

“The Task Force called for a psychiatrist as soon as Barnes was captured. The UN dispatched Dr. Theo Broussard from Geneva within the hour. He was met by this man.”  
The projected image shifted into the thin-lipped, brown-haired man who had recited the Winter Soldier’s trigger words in the interrogation room. Barnes clenched his fists at the sight.

“Who is he?” Steve demanded. “Do we have a name?”

“Stand down, Cap. We’re talking about my girl FRIDAY here.” Tony gestured for FRIDAY to continue.

“Thank you, Boss. The fake doctor is Colonel Helmut Zemo, Sokovian Intelligence. He ran EKO Scorpion, a Sokovian covert kill squad.”

“What happened to Broussard?” T’Challa asked.

Photos of a crime scene in a hotel room replaced Zemo’s image.

“He was found dead in a Berlin hotel room. Police also found a wig and facial prosthesis approximating the appearance of James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Son of a bitch. Get this to Ross.” Tony turned to face Cap. “You’ve known about this?”

Hesitating for a moment, Steve gave him a brisk nod. “Based on the info he was trying to get out of Bucky, Zemo’s going to try to release the other Winter Soldiers soon.”

Absent-mindedly gripping his left wrist in his right hand, Tony raised an eyebrow. “And at what point were you going to inform anyone outside of your little _cabal_ of that fact?”

Steve sighed. “Tony, we didn’t have any other choice. With Ross and the Accords on our backs, and Zemo’s plan, we couldn’t afford to wait for explanations.”

“Mm-hm.” Tony poured himself another glass of wine, faux-casual. “And when were you going to tell me?”

Wilson broke in, “Stark, after the week we’ve had and all that shit with the Accords, do you _really_ think that you’d have believed us? The Accords, which _you signed_ , would’ve forced you to come after us, _like they did_.”

Without breaking eye contact with Steve, Tony raised a hand to cut him off. “Actually, Wilson, I’d prefer to hear this straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“Tony, we’re wasting time. Zemo’s probably already waking up the other Soldiers, and—“

“Fine.” Tony stood, scooping up his phone, and watched as Cap and Barnes stiffened in response. “When did I become the enemy, Cap?”

Steve sent an indecipherable look at Barnes, before staring resolutely back at Tony and ignoring his question. “Zemo’s headed to the HYDRA facility in Siberia. Do you have a plan?”

Staring at the pair for a second, Tony exhaled slowly through his nose before turning to T’Challa. “If Zemo’s behind this, Barnes isn’t responsible for that explosion.”

T’Challa nodded solemnly, but his eyes glinted with furious determination. “I must find him. Will your Secretary Ross help us?”

Barton laughed bitterly. “Unlikely. He’s more likely to ignore Stark’s message and continue hunting Barnes.”

“He’s right,” Natasha adds, “Barnes’ guilt fits Ross’ Accords narrative better. And Zemo’s left the US by now, so he’s out of Ross’ jurisdiction.”

“Well, I’ve got a kid to take care of, so I’ll leave the fighting to you.” Tony nodded at Cap and T’Challa. “Take whoever with you, but leave Barton behind.”

“Why?” Barton snorted. “Need someone to take the blame for this mess?”

“You’re supposed to be retired, Bird-brain, and I figured you’d want to return to your little nest in peace, without Ross hanging over your head. And that’ll be easier to negotiate if you’re here and show a little contrition.”

“Um.” The guy in the Pym suit raised his hand, making Tony roll his eyes. “Mr. Iron Man, I have a kid at home that I’d like to get back to, so...”

“Tony’s fine, Mechani-Kong. Where did Cap find you, in one of Pym’s old labs?”

“My _name_ is Scott, and Hank—“

“Alright, enough.” Natasha sent Tony and Scott piercing glares, making the first settle back into his chair and the latter wince and duck his head slightly. “Lang and Barton will stay back with Stark and Rhodes. Rogers, Barnes, T’Challa, and I will go after Zemo. Ross’ll come after us in a few hours, and I don’t think Wilson or Wanda should be here when he does. Vision...” She hesitated.

“Vision should stay with us,” Tony interjected. “The three of us will stand a better chance during negotiations, and Vision’s probably the most diplomatic one we’ve got. Wilson and Maximoff can serve as back-up for the Siberia team, in case the situation with the Soldiers gets out of hand.”

“What about the kid?”

Tony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He’s on the flight back with Happy from Berlin. There was no need for him to get caught up in this mess. He’ll be treated for trauma at the compound, and I’ll figure it out from there.” He met Steve’s eyes. “I never agreed with the Accords, Cap. Just what they represented.”

Steve looked away, brows furrowing. Flicking his eyes to Nat, he asked, “What about transportation? The four of us can take one Quinjet, but we still need a way for Sam and Wanda to tail us. Tony and the rest will need the other Quinjet to get back to the airport.”

“They can take my jet,” T’Challa offers. “Two people can fit inside and the controls are intuitive enough for Wilson to pilot it.”

“And I’m sure Ross will be more than happy to escort the rest of us back to the States. So our travel plans are settled?” Tony looks around the gathered heroes, waiting for an objection that did not come.

Steve straightened his back and spoke. “Alright, team. It’s time to move out.” He led the way out of the cabin, slotting his shield into its harness on his back as soon as it was within reach. Barnes, Nat, T’Challa, Wilson, and Maximoff followed suit.

“Cap,” Tony called after him. “Leave your comms on. They won’t work long-range in Siberia, but you can contact us on the way out.”

The comms would also record their encounter with Zemo and transmit the audio back to the compound. Tony’d had enough encounters with villainous monologuing to know that the recording could help in clearing Barnes’ name, and by association, those of the Avengers who had helped him escape.

Without pausing to listen for Steve’s reply, Tony addressed the remaining people in the cabin. “We’ll give them a head start before we take off, because the Task Force is definitely monitoring the air space around Leipzig.”

He got up, making Barton and Lang shift slightly, and went to the kitchen to re-cork the bottle and wash his and Natasha’s wine glasses.

As he replaced the glasses and the bottle in their shelves, Tony’s watch vibrated with a message from Natasha: _All clear. We’re en route._

Tony cleared his throat. Rhodey and Barton rose immediately and left the cabin, followed by Vision and Lang. When he was the only one left, Tony picked up the picture hidden half in shadow on the counter and tucked it into his leather jacket.

Pressing a hand to the frame over his chest, Tony vacated the cabin without a second glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to play a game called "Does that frame mean anything or will I forget about it?"
> 
> In other news, I’ve decided to go through with Italian!Tony and Italian!May.


	3. The Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter worries about his situation (and Happy's no help—well, maybe a little). Tony is very tired; Ross and Barton aren't making his job any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I try to be funny... Let me know how bad my attempts are!
> 
> Excuse the shitty chapter summary; this is sort of a transition chapter.
> 
> Re: the Black Panther -- as I wrote T'Challa's POV, I decided that it worked better as a separate story, so his POV is no longer in this story. After I finish up the new story, expect an addition to the terrible dearth of Black Panther-focused fanfics on this site.
> 
> Thank you for your comments, everyone! I love reading them and every time I get one, I write a couple hundred words on the story, so... you know...
> 
> POV: 🕷 Peter Parker; ⎊ Tony Stark

🕷 🕷 🕷

  
“FRIDAY,” Peter whispered pleadingly, “just let me know where Mr. Stark is and if he’s safe. I can’t follow him anyway; it’s not like I know how to fly a plane.”

“Boss’ location and condition are unavailable to you at this time, Mr. Parker. However, all vehicles owned by Mr. Stark are capable of piloting themselves.”

Peter blinked. “Oh, cool. So then I could.... Not that I would!” Wincing at the volume of his last words, Peter sent a suspicious look at Happy. Upon hearing a particularly loud snore, he relaxed. “Will you at least let me know if he’s okay?”

“Boss’ condition—”

“—is unavailable, yes, I _know_. But once you find out, can you give me an update?”

During the silence that followed, Peter felt like FRIDAY would have sighed heavily if she were a person. Finally, she replied, “Yes, Mr. Parker.”

“Thank you!” Peter whispered as loudly as he dared, smiling up into FRIDAY’s camera.

He adjusted his seat, returning from the reclined position that Happy had insisted on when they had boarded several hours ago to the upright position. Despite his protests during the first half hour, Peter had slept deeply—definitely helped along by the sleeping medication Happy had forced him to take, then watched him until his eyes were visibly drooping—until a bit of turbulence had startled him awake.

Since awakening, he’d been bothering FRIDAY for any news about Mr. Stark or the others, but Mr. Stark had apparently disconnected himself from external signals to stop the government from tracking him.

Peter couldn’t ignore the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He remembered the black eye and heavy demeanor that Mr. Stark had sported after Germany, and knew that it had something to do with the other Avengers disappearing after the airport fight.

He did feel a kernel of satisfaction at having helped mitigate the effects of that fight. Colonel Rhodes hadn’t been injured, which had been a major source of guilt for Mr. Stark even a year-and-half later.

Peter wondered, his thoughts drifting, what those five years had been like for Mr. Stark. He wouldn’t have known any time had passed if Mr. Stark hadn’t disappeared and if Dr. Strange hadn’t told him before shoving him through his gold, glowy magic circle. Had Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts survived? Peter thought so, considering they had looked older, aged by time and grief, when he...

When he last saw Mr. Stark. Peter jolted, fear climbing up his spine as he remembered the pain of seeing his mentor on the verge of death and how that pain increased a hundred-fold after he grabbed the gauntlet.

If only Peter had stayed by his side. After that unprecedented but welcome hug on the battlefield, matched only by May’s tight embraces and how Mr. Stark had let him cling to him at the airport, Peter should have shadowed Mr. Stark, stopped him from using the stones.

The stones. Peter’s head shot up. Throwing a wary glance at Happy’s slumbering form, Peter pulled out his phone, which had survived three fights, his dusting, and travel to another time-slash-dimension.

“Karen,” he spoke quietly, directly into the microphone. “What can you tell me about stones?”

“Stones are small pieces of rock, Peter. Did you mean a certain type of stone, such as kidney, gem, or building?”

_Stupid question, Peter_ , he chided himself. “No, I mean really powerful stones. Six of them, in different colours, like purple, green, and yellow.”

“Are you interested in healing crystals, Peter? You seem to be describing amethyst, representing sincerity; peridot, representing growth; and—” Karen displayed a list of crystals and cheerfully began listing them off.

“No, these are really, _really_ powerful stones.” Peter tried again. “I think Dr. Strange called the green one the ‘Time Stone’? Can you look that up?”

“Yes, I found stones that lie dormant until used and can cause miracles.”

Peter perked up. “That’s it! What else do you know?”

His screen changed to an animated version of several stones, hovering over a lake. “The Time Stones are found on Little Planet, a satellite that appears one month a year above Never Lake. The seven stones—”

Peter interrupted her, incredulous. “Never Lake? _Seven_ stones? Karen, are you talking about _Sonic the Hedgehog_?”

“That is the closest match for Time Stone. I’m glad you’re expanding your interests, Peter.”

“What?!” he spluttered, “I don’t watch Sonic! I’m talking about _real-life_ stones. Okay,” he took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “How about Dr. Strange? He was in Greenwich Village when… um, when I met him.”

After a brief pause, Karen brought up a biography of Dr. Strange. “Dr. Stephen Strange was a neurosurgeon at Metro-General Hospital until February 2nd, 2016, when a serious car accident damaged his hands and impaired his fine motor skills. He is currently unemployed and completing physical therapy at Manhattan Rehabilitation Center.”

“Oh, wow,” Peter paused to take that in. “Is there anything about magic or glowing circles?”

“No, Peter, there is not.”

Unsure of what to do next, Peter locked his phone and began turning it over in his palm.

 _Shit_ , he thought, gazing out his window, _if I can’t figure this out, how can we stop it from happening again? I don’t even know how we came back after the dusting, or how Thanos and that Squidward guy attacked us again. How am I even back here? Why couldn’t someone else… why couldn’t Mr. Stark—_

Across the aisle, Happy snorted in his sleep and knocked his glasses off his face. As they clattered to a halt on the floor, Peter hastily wiped the tears off his cheeks and made a show of stretching while Happy’s eyes blinked open.

“Kid? What’re you doin’ awake?” Happy asked, voice gruff with sleep. “How’s the head?”

“It’s fine, Happy. I just woke up.”

Happy looked at him closely, apparently trying to sense whether he was telling the truth. Evidently realising he’d dropped his glasses, he bent over to pick them up with a grunt before shoving them in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

He peered out the window, then checked his watch. “We’re about three hours away from New York,” Happy informed him. “So if you’re not getting any more shut-eye, stay off your phone and don’t read anything in small print.”

With that, he reclined his chair further back and fell asleep once again.

Mildly impressed, Peter closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Sleep was impossible now, with all the thoughts and worries racing around his mind.

Using his phone, he began dictating a note for Karen to transcribe:

 **📝 New Note**  
June 24 2016. Airport fight  
June 25 2016. Mr. Stark gives me the suit  
July 2016. Mr. Stark sells Stark Tower  
Mid-October 2016. Weapons deal and DC  
October 17th 2016. Ferry

“Pause dictation,” Peter said, a new idea occurring to him. “Karen, do you have all the recordings from the past—er, I mean, the future? Like, from 2018?”

“I’m sorry, Peter, can you specify which recordings you mean?”

“ _Karen_ ,” Peter hissed, turning red. “You _know_ what I mean.”

“My coding dictates that the proper names for all features must be used.”

Peter could practically hear Mr. Stark laughing at him. “Fine.” He gritted his teeth. “Do you have the _Baby Monitor footage_ from 2018?”

“Certainly, Peter. However, there is a gap in my data from 2018 to 2023 that I was only partially able to fill while syncing with FRIDAY, so I have minimal data available from that period.”

“You and me both, Karen,” Peter muttered. His heart began to flutter with hope, and he quietly opened the zipper on his backpack. Happy had returned his original suit, sans-mask, to its case, but Peter had managed to sneak his Iron Spider suit into his bag when Happy had been distracted.

As he dug it out, he asked, “How long will it take for you to download all the important footage onto my phone?”

“Approximately two hours. Would you like me to back-up your phone as well?”

“Yeah, thanks, Karen.” Peter had forgotten that all the memories he’d had over the past two years would no longer exist for anyone but him. They _shouldn’t_ , he reminded himself, not if he wanted to avoid the catastrophe that had happened last time. That didn’t mean he wanted to forget his time with Ned, MJ, Mr. Stark, and May.

May had been at the forefront of his mind since Tony had handed him off to Happy. It pained him to realise that his aunt was still in the dark about his nocturnal activities. And she had to _remain_ unaware until he explained everything to Mr. Stark, so he’d stopped himself from calling her as soon as he was back at the hotel.

Peter placed his phone on top of his suit’s containment unit, watched as the nano-particles inserted themselves into the device’s charging port, and stuffed both back into his backpack.

Without anything occupy himself, Peter carefully got up and reached across the aisle to take Happy’s bottle of Aleve PM out of his open laptop case. Dry-swallowing four tablets, Peter replaced the bottle and settled himself comfortably back in his seat.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the gentle thrumming of the plane’s engine to lull him to sleep.

  
⎊ ⎊ ⎊

  
“Stark!” Ross shouted, striding up to the man leaning casually against a Quinjet. “Where the _hell_ are the others?”

Tony shrugged, smirking internally at Ross’ frustration. “We were a little late to the party. Rogers and Barnes were already taking off when we got here. Romanov and T’Challa went after them.”

“And why are you still here?” Ross growled.

“I wanted to loop you in, of course.” Tony’s expression became serious. “You got the files? Have you started searching for this Zemo guy?”

Ross scoffed, dismissing his words. “You think I’ll listen to you after this mess? Barnes is still on the lam and until we bring him in, our resources will be focused entirely on him. I’ll see you in DC, Stark.”

He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

Tony called after him, “So will we fly back together, or should we take separate jets?”

  
⎊ ⎊ ⎊

  
When he boarded the Quinjet, Tony found Rhodey frowning disapprovingly at him.

“Before you start... FRIDAY, would you be a dear and take off for New York?”

Hearing her confirmation and the jets engines begin to whir, Tony gestured for Rhodey to begin.

“Did you have to antagonise him? We’re still going to have to work with him, and it’ll be a much harder to negotiate Barton and Lang’s pardons if Ross is out to get us.”

Tony laughed, “Ah, Rhodey. Ross was and will always be out to get us—me especially. If he thinks he’s got the upper hand, he won’t mind throwing us a favor or two.”

Rhodey scrunched his brows, unconvinced, then addressed Barton. “I hope you’re ready to play up the guilt.”

“It’s Ross we have to convince, so I doubt blubbering about how sorry we are is the best way to do that.” Barton sighed, rubbing his wrists. “We need to use facts. Lang, you any good at criminal defense?”

Lang’s head shot up from where he’d been fiddling with the jet’s control panel. “Um, no. Definitely not your guy for that.”

“Just stick to what I told Ross’ groupies,” Tony advised. “You two hadn’t been given a choice about the Accords, but you’d heard the Avengers were gathering in Germany after Vienna so you came to help out.

“Barton, I’d recommend not mentioning Wanda—thanks for that, by the way.”

“Watch it, Stark,” Barton snarled, hands twitching for his confiscated bow. “You kept her in that compound, afraid and cut off from the world. She needed a chance for redemption, not to be shut away and forgotten about.”

“She was not forgotten.” Vision spoke for the first time since leaving the cabin. “We were happy, I think, at the compound.”

Barton deflated slightly. “Vision, she’s 18. Wanda deserves more than a corner of the world to stay cooped up in.”

“Enough!” Rhodey’s command rang through the enclosed space. “We‘ve got to present a united front. Clint, you’re looking at two options here: sign the Accords or go back to retirement. Lang, I’m not sure where you stand with the US government”—Scott winced—“but you’ll probably get similar choices. The alternative is not pretty, I can assure you of that.”

“Clint,” Tony began, softer than before, “she’s a kid, but the US doesn’t do well with powerful people they can’t control. If she hadn’t stayed there until the UN decided how to proceed, they’d have locked her up somewhere much worse.”

Barton nodded, stiff and reluctant, and leaned against the side of the plane. Lang mirrored his position, deep in thought.

Tony exchanged a weary look with Rhodey as he gave Vision a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, before moving to the front of the jet and taking a seat at its helm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you wonder why Karen says Peter’s name so much (maybe that’s just me), know that I fully believe that Tony asked Rhodey about kids while coding Peter’s AI, and he gave him some bullshit advice about name repetition helping children form bonds and learn how to trust, which is also why Tony let Peter name her himself


	4. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two terrible truths are revealed at the HYDRA facility and at the Avengers’ compound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh time for some sad boi hours
> 
> but here’s the first Bucky POV chapter! his voice is hard for me to write, but I think I’m getting the hang of his development
> 
> there’s a little humor sprinkled in, so maybe this won’t be too dour?
> 
> (09-07) Should’ve added this before, but I borrow liberally from the CA:CW movie/script for Bucky’s POV bc some plot points gotta stay the same
> 
> POV: 🕷 Peter Parker; ★ James Barnes

★ ★ ★

  
“Landing on the plateau next to the truck.” Romanov flipped several switches on the panel. “Zemo’s here.”

As the jet’s wings fold up by the fuselage, Barnes pulled out the rack of guns labelled ‘Romanoff.’ Without much deliberation, he slings a light machine gun over his back and takes a second, heavy duty one.

“Nice choice,” the Black Widow remarked as she grabbed her own weapons and joined the three men while the exit ramp at the back of the jet slowly lowered itself.

Barnes grunted non-commitally, jumping out after Steve onto the snowy mountainside.

They walked in wedge formation to the entrance set in the rock. Steve took the lead, with Romanov flanking his left and Barnes on his right, with the Wakandan behind the latter.

“He can’t have been here for more than a few hours,” Steve said, noticing the build-up of snow beyond the open door.

“Long enough to wake them up.” _Long enough to prepare them to attack at his command._

Entering the cast bunker, they arrived at a caged elevator that delivered them into the depths of the facility.

Barnes heaved up the cage door, and the foursome continued down the corridor, keeping close the left wall. Relying on his enhanced hearing to warn him of incoming threats, Barnes peered into the various alcoves scattered along the hall. There were a variety of weapons, most of them rusted or rendered inoperable due to time and disuse.

Seeing a slightly dull, but quality knife near him, he picked up the blade and slotted it into his vest. He ignored T’Challa’s wary look and followed Steve up some stairs and along another corridor.

Eventually, they reached a large entrance-way. Once there, they found the Witch waiting for them, already peering into the room.

"Wanda, where's Sam?" Steve asked, stepping forward to obstruct her path into the chamber. "You two were supposed to guard the entrance."

Maximoff blinked at him. "He is there, but we saw no threats. I came ahead."

Tuning out their conversation, Barnes looked into the vast chamber with several standing capsules. The room was too dark to make out what was in them from the outside.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve warned, but Barnes was already approaching the nearest glass-walled pod.

As the others followed more cautiously, lights flickered on and a hazy yellow mist descended in each capsule. Barnes could see a man inside, his eyes open and blank, with a bullet hole between them.

 _Josef_ , he thought, remembering his occasional companion on HYDRA missions.

"If it's any comfort," Zemo's voice crackling to life from speakers at the end of the room, "they died in their sleep."

Barnes slowly spun on his heel, taking in the figures in the other capsules. _Artur. Mila. Bataar. Frol._

Zemo sneered, "Did you really think I wanted more of you?"

Maximoff, the Panther, and Romanov walked the perimeter of the room, looking for hidden threats. Barnes heard Steve curse under his breath.

"I'm grateful to them, though. They brought you here."

A small window lit up in the centre of the back wall, Zemo's face appearing back-lit with yellow light from within the control room. Instinctively, Steve hurled his shield at him, then caught it as it rebounded harmlessly on the window.

"Please, Captain." Zemo chuckled. "The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets."

Steve drew closer to Zemo. "We'll find a way in there eventually."

"Oh, I'm sure you will. But then you'd never know why you came." He scanned the room, taking in the room's inhabitants. "There is someone missing from your number. Tony Stark. But no matter. I'm sure he'll find out soon enough."

The Widow walked up to stand next to Steve. "You killed innocents in Vienna to bring us here?"

"I thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. And now you're standing here."

Maximoff joined them, Barnes and the king still lingering behind. "You are Sokovian."

Zemo's eyes narrowed. "As are you. But Sokovia was a failed state long before the Avengers blew it to hell. I'm here because I made a promise."

"You lost someone?" Steve asked, studying him.

Clicking his tongue, Zemo made eye-contact with the three standing before him. "I lost everyone. And so will you. No secret can remain hidden forever, Captain."

"What do you mean?" Even as Steve spoke, a screen whirred to life next to him. "December 16th, 1991... that's..."

Trailing off, Steve looked at Barnes, then back at the screen. They watched, frozen, as the Winter Soldier forces the car off the road, then kills both passengers, first the man pleading for his wife's safety and then the woman calling out for her husband.

As the Winter Soldier shoots out the surveillance camera on the screen, Romanov turned to Steve. "Does he know?"

Steve stood still, fists clenched and jaw locked.

Maximoff looked at Barnes questioningly, apparently unaware of who his victims were. _Not his_ , said a voice in Barnes' mind. _They were_ his.

Her voice lifting slightly with uncharacteristic panic, the Widow pressed, "Does Tony know, Steve?"

"Who were those people?" Maximoff asked, eyes switching between Steve and Romanov. "What does Stark have to do with..." Her eyes widened, darting back to Barnes. "He killed Stark's parents?"

"It wasn't him."

The Widow half-scoffed, half-groaned. "Steve, you should have told him." Her eyes shifted back to the control room, and her posture immediately stiffened. "Zemo's gone."

  
★ ★ ★

  
“You must tell him.”

Steve looked taken aback at Maximoff’s words. They had walked in silence until she spoke. There was only one area from which to exit the bunker, and they were relying on Wilson to stop Zemo from escaping.

Barnes had noticed that the Witch was not Stark’s greatest supporter, but he had gleaned enough about her past from Steve to know her parents’ death were one of her pressure points. Hearing that Stark’s parents had been murdered and that he was unaware of it had likely evoked some form of empathy or kindness in her.

“Wanda, he won’t understand. Tony’s hot-headed; he won’t care that Bucky couldn’t control his actions, and he’ll go after him. That’s the last thing—”

“That may be true,” Maximoff interrupted, “but Stark deserves the truth about his family.”

Steve set his jaw and faced forward. “I’ll tell him when he’s ready to hear it.”

Barnes felt a familiar sense of discomfort at his words. It was the same as when his handlers had spoken about him as though he were insentient.

They continued in silence until they reached the caged elevator. Steve lifted the door, and waited for the Widow and the Witch to step inside. He looked at Barnes, gesturing for him to get in.

“Go on, Steve. Send it back down for the Panther and me.” The Wakandan looked close to startled by Barnes’ statement, but did not protest when Steve entered the elevator and dropped the door.

After several minutes of tense quiet, broken only by the creaks and groans of the cage rising, Barnes began to speak. “I hear your country has advanced technologies and science.”

The king inclined his head. “We have made much progress in many fields of study.”

Noting his refusal to reveal anything substantial about his country, Barnes decided to be direct. “HYDRA has controlled me for over fifty years. They still have the power to force me to forget myself and follow their orders.

“If you have the resources to undo their manipulations, I ask that you consider...” He stopped, unsure how to phrase his request. “I don’t have much to offer you, but I can promise to defend you and your men from any threat.”

The Panther did not reply immediately. He considered Barnes’ appeal while the caged elevator grinded to a stop before them and they stepped inside.

Finally, as they neared the top of the bunker, he spoke. “My father opened our country to the world and those in need of our capabilities. I do not require your services, Mr. Barnes, but my people will help you recover yourself.”

Barnes nodded shortly, conveying his thanks, and pushed up the cage door to allow himself and T’Challa to rejoin the others.

  
★ ★ ★

  
“You’re clear? No one’s chasing you?” Wilson squinted into the dimly lit corridor behind them. “That was quick. Thought you guys’d be gone for at least a couple hours.”

Next to him, Zemo was unconscious and tied up on the ground. Wilson kicked him lightly. “Heard this one come outside a little while ago. He tried to off himself, but I thought he deserved to face justice before that.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder, using the other hand to drag Zemo outside and towards the jets. “Zemo wasn’t planning on releasing the Winter Soldiers, just showing us something. He wanted... well, he wanted us to tear each other apart.”

“Shit.” Wilson turned his head, scanning their group for signs of a battle. “You guys are in pretty good shape after that.”

“He was expecting a different audience. There wasn’t a fight.”

Maximoff snorted derisively, but did not contradict Steve’s words. They reached the jets and waited for the ramps to descend.

Steve looked down at Zemo, then to the Wakandan. “T’Challa, will you take him back to Wakanda for justice, or should we turn him over to the Joint Terrorism Task Force?”

Eyeing the unconscious HYDRA operative distastefully, the king shook his head. “Vengeance has consumed him. He will answer for all his crimes, not only my father’s death.”

He turned to walk into his jet. When Barnes made to follow the king, Steve called after him.

“Bucky? Where’re you going?”

The Panther answered, “I have offered my country’s resources to help your friend regain himself.”

Steve looked uncertain but hopeful. “You can help him remember?”

T’Challa nodded, and Steve straightened his back and approached the pair, leaving Wilson and Romanov to haul Zemo into the Quinjet. He offered a hand to the king, who shook it, and carefully wrapped Barnes in an embrace to whisper, “Take care of yourself, Buck.”

With that, Steve withdrew, striding back to his jet.

  
🕷 🕷 🕷

  
Peter snuck his phone out from under his covers. At Happy’s insistence, Peter had been given a full look-over by a doctor in the infirmary as soon as they’d gotten off the plane. She’d taken one look at his bruised face, listened to FRIDAY’s recitation of symptoms listed by Mr. Stark, Captain America, and Mr. Wilson in Leipzig, and declared him confined to bed for at least 24 hours without any bright screens or reading in dim lighting.

Peter had managed to hold onto his phone because Happy had forgotten about it while arguing with a nurse about the necessity of a CT scan. He chalked the oversight up to Happy’s obvious lack of experience with anyone under the age of thirty.

The first thing he’d done after being left alone was call May, unable to restrain himself any longer. Her phone had been turned off, however, making Peter feel guilty and relieved in equal parts.

“Karen,” he whispered, when no one was around to hear him but FRIDAY and a day-dreaming nurse sorting through medical supplies just outside his room. “Can you see if FRIDAY has any more information about the really powerful stones I asked you about before?”

“Of course, Peter.” Karen matched his volume. After several moments of quiet while she connected with FRIDAY, she added, “Access to those files is prohibited, however.”

“But there are files?” Peter asked, his heart racing at Karen’s confirmation. Even if he couldn’t see them, knowing that there were files about the stones and that Mr. Stark might know something about them was enough to buoy up his spirits.

Voices were approaching his room, so Peter quickly shoved his phone under his pillow and feigned sleep.

“Parker’s definitely healthy? No lasting damage?” To Peter’s surprise, Happy sounded concerned about his well-being.

“Definitely not, considering how fast his superficial wounds are healing.”

The doctor’s tone was a bit too interested for Peter’s liking, but he assured himself that Mr. Stark wouldn’t hire someone untrustworthy to work for the Avengers.

“Thank God for that. I can’t imagine what Tony would say if...” Happy’s words trailed off as he grew close enough to see inside Peter’s room. “Parker!”

The sudden noise made Peter jump. “What? Did something happen? Is Mr. Stark back? Or—”

Happy cut him off. “Nah, just making sure you weren’t passed out from a head injury.” Addressing the doctor, who was suppressing a smile as Peter glared at Happy, he continued, “Looks like the kid’s in good shape.”

“I’m glad you agree, Mr. Hogan.” The doctor still looked cheerful, making Peter itch to turn his glower on her as well.

“Okay, kid. I’ve got to make some security arrangements for Pepper, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Until then, stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, Happy.”

Happy turned towards the open door, then paused to add, “Stay out of trouble after I’m back, too. And in between.” Looking at the doctor, he asked, “No loopholes there, right?”

She chuckled lightly and nodded. Sending a warning look to Peter, Happy left the room with the doctor.

Almost. Before she disappeared, the doctor peeked back into his room and whispered, “Don’t stay on your phone too long, Peter.” With a wink, she swung his door shut.

Several minutes after Happy’s footsteps had faded from Peter’s considerable earshot, he pulled out his phone once again.

“Karen, pull up the recordings from the suit.”

“I’m sorry, Peter, but you’ll need to specify which recordings you would like.” To her credit, she sounded vaguely apologetic.

“ _Karen_ ,” he repeated, whispering fiercely, “please pull up the _Baby Monitor footage_.”

“Certainly, Peter.” His screen displayed a scrolling list of videos, arranged by date recorded.

“Okay, that’s a lot.” After thinking for a minute, he continued, “Let’s cut out the patrols, unless something major happens, and anything that involves me in front of my mirror.”

“Are you sure, Peter? I really like your Thor impression.”

“Thanks, Karen, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Stark doesn’t need to see that. Take out any videos where I’m messing around with Ned, too.”

The list of videos shrank with each trimming, and the final set had a total time of about three hours.

_Great, we can have a movie night of my life._

With a deep, calming breath, Peter asked the question he’d been putting off until now. “What do we have from after 2018?”

Karen’s voice softened. “Other than the Baby Monitor footage from October 11th, 2023”—Peter winced—“I have several documents, some new suit schematics, and a video message from Mr. Stark available.”

 _A message?_ Peter perked up. “Play the video, Karen!”

His phone’s screen was set into horizontal mode and Mr. Stark’s face appeared.

Turning the device sideways, Peter raised the volume on his phone until Mr. Stark’s voice rang loud and clear. He no longer cared if Happy caught him on his phone; how could he, knowing that these were _his_ Tony Stark’s last words for him?

The video started blurry, but quickly focused on Tony’s face. ‘Hey, kid. It’s been a while.’ Tony chuckled sadly. His red eyes and rumpled appearance were apparent even in the video’s small frame. ‘I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like you’re here to see it.’

He sighed. ‘Today would’ve been your 21st birthday. I’d raise a glass to you, but I made a promise to Pep and I’ve got someone new to set a better example for.’ The video shook as Tony lifted the camera off its stand and pointed it at a three-year-old girl playing with large kid-friendly LEGO bricks. ‘There’s your little sister, Pete. She even takes after you, with the LEGOs and everything. Morgan loves Spider-man stories too, so you’d have—‘

Peter’s vision narrowed to the small figure on the screen, and the world stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to post something tomorrow, so look out for that! You might have noticed that this work is part of a series now...
> 
> Posted! The rest of Tony’s message can be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307127


	5. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Barnes face the implications of what has been revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments! The reception on the last chapter was pretty good, and I hope you’ll enjoy this one as well.
> 
> The story summary has changed again, but the story itself is on the same track.
> 
> Side note: I don’t have a beta, but if anyone’s interested, leave me a comment below! It’ll mainly involve discussing plot lines and minor editing, because I think I’ve got a handle on the grammar/spelling.
> 
> WARNINGS: depression, self-loathing thoughts, spiraling
> 
> (if there’s something I missed, let me know!)
> 
> POV: 🕷 Peter Parker; ⎊ Tony Stark; ★ James Barnes

🕷 🕷 🕷

  
“Peter.” Karen sounded worried. “Your heart rate and respiration have increased. Should I take you through some breathing exercises?”

As she spoke, the door swung open, revealing Mr. Stark. He began to say something, but stopped when he heard Peter’s heart monitor beeping loudly and saw him wide-eyed and unmoving in his bed.

“Pete?” Mr. Stark’s voice came to him through a dense fog, and the rest of his words were drowned out entirely by the pounding of his heart beat.

The same heart beat Peter had heard slow, stutter, and halt within a span of minutes on that battlefield. The same heart beat his daughter had fallen asleep to, in the four years she’d had him.

 _Morgan_. Her name, her face, her _existence_ wiped from reality after Peter’s stupid mistake. All that was left of her was a video of her father, of Tony, talking about her in a voice that exuded adoration and warmth and _love_ with every syllable.

Peter stared straight ahead, unable to move, unwilling to breathe. How could he, knowing that he had killed a child, Mr. Stark’s little girl?

_There’s your little sister, Pete._

Air rushed into Peter’s lungs as he remembered Tony’s words, labeling him as Morgan’s big brother. The one who should have made her laugh, who should have played dress-up and make-believe with her, who should have helped her face her fears on her first day of school, who should have cared for and loved and _protected her_. Should have—but he’d failed on all counts.

Mr. Stark came into focus before him, lips still moving soundlessly. Peter screwed his eyes shut, unable to look at the face of the man he’d betrayed in the worst way. _I’m sorry_ , he mouthed. _I’m so sorry_.

He shrank back from the arms attempting to wrap him in a comforting embrace he knew he didn’t, wouldn’t ever deserve. Turning onto his side, Peter curled in on himself, burying himself under blankets and the unrelenting compress of shame and grief.

⎊ ⎊ ⎊

A wave of relief crashed over Tony after the kid cried himself to sleep.

He'd been incredibly out of his depth since first walking into Peter's room to find the kid sitting up and staring blankly in front of him, his heart monitor beeping frantically beside him. Frozen in the doorway for a moment, he'd nearly been bowled over by a nurse dashing past him.

When he had regained his wits, Tony had rushed to Peter's side as well, trying to call and nudge him out of his trance-like state. His efforts had been in vain, however; the only time Peter responded to Tony had been at the end, when he'd cringed away from his attempt at a comforting embrace.

Leaning forward had afforded Tony a quick glance at Peter's phone before it auto-locked. Now alone, the nurse having left when Peter had calmed himself into slumber, Tony remembered the video paused on a frame of a brown-haired, dark-eyed little girl playing with toys.

Before approaching the kid at his apartment, Tony had looked into him and his background. Except for his aunt-by-marriage, the kid hadn't had any family members—FRIDAY would never have missed a sister or cousin, no matter how distant.

Perhaps the kid's wild tale about being from the future had some truth to it. Tony had certainly seen enough magic, aliens, and gods in the past few years for it to be a possibility. If Peter had regressed in age as time reversed and carried the phone with him from the past, that video could be one of the few mementos of the kid's future family. That would explain Peter's intense reaction to seeing the girl, as well as his nano-suit in Leipzig.

"FRIDAY," Tony said in an undertone, "bring up the video the kid was watching before his little episode."

"Boss, I don't think that's a good idea." She was probably right (definitely, but Tony wouldn't admit it), but—

"That's why I make the decisions and you do the follow-through." He leaned forward in his chair and grabbed the tablet attached to the side of Peter's bed. "If I don't know what the problem is, I can't fix it."

Without another protest, FRIDAY transferred the video to Tony’s tablet. Glancing at Peter to make sure he was still asleep, Tony tapped on his ear-piece to signal FRIDAY to play the audio through it.

“Okay, kid. Let’s see what’s bothering you.”

  
★ ★ ★

  
As far as he could remember, Barnes had never felt more out of place than he did in Wakanda.

When he and the Panther had disembarked from the jet just before midnight, they’d been greeted by an older woman accompanied by a group of red-armoured women armed with spears. At least, T’Challa had been greeted with a smile and some form of salute; Barnes was met with a considering look from the robed woman and suspicion from the guards.

T’Challa had explained his presence, then introduced him as Sergeant Barnes to the woman—the Queen Mother Ramonda. Hesitantly, Barnes inclined his head in a slight bow. The guards, or the _Dora Milaje_ , tightened their grips on their spears, but the Queen seemed more amused than affronted.

“Where is my sister?” T’Challa asked his mother, leaving Barnes to take in his surroundings. His presence had caused quite a stir, as the few passers-by stared at his unkempt, battle-worn appearance. Even the Dora Milaje, who looked more battle-ready than he, were eyeing him with vague derision.

“Shuri cannot be expected to remain awake this late, even for you.” The Queen Mother laughed. “She’ll be here when you return.”

 _Return?_ Unwilling to voice his confusion, Barnes caught T’Challa’s eye and gave him a questioning look.

“I have to pick someone up before my incoronation ceremony,” he explained. “She’s... taking care of a situation now, so I must go to relieve her.”

Barnes noted the emotion-laden _she_ , but simply nodded. He wasn’t there to pry, only to seek aid.

“Shuri, my sister, will be taking care of your recovery, Sergeant Barnes,” T’Challa added. “When she wakes, one of the Dora will take you to her. Until then, Okoye will show you where you can rest.”

He nodded at the commander of the guards, and she performed the same salute as before.

“Come,” she ordered, and Barnes tried not to bristle at her command.

  
★ ★ ★

  
He walked behind Okoye across the platform into the shining glass and metal building attached to it. As soon as they had entered, she had grabbed a large metal box and held it out to him, pointedly looking at the knife strapped to his thigh.

Taking the hint, Barnes dropped all his visible weapons into the box, then the more obvious hidden ones to allay her misgivings about him.

They followed the curved corridors, Barnes making a note of each turn as he went, until they reached a hall lined with doors with electronic plaques. Most of them were blank, indicating that they were currently unused.

His guide pushed a button next to one of the doors, and it swung open to reveal a pristine suite decorated with richly coloured tapestries.

“Here are your rooms. If you would like to eat, there are two guards posted in this hallway who can direct you.”

The glint in her eye confirmed what Barnes knew; the guards weren’t for _his_ protection. Her suspicion was well-deserved, however, so he merely inclined his head.

After watching him enter the room, Okoye turned on her heel and left. The door closed automatically behind him.

Without anything to occupy himself with beyond caring for his remaining weapons, which he wouldn’t do until he’d checked the rooms for surveillance equipment, Barnes was left to sort through his memories.

His few conversations with Steve had helped him regain some inconsequential memories, like when they’d spent their train money on hot dogs or of the dames they’d danced with. Some of Bucky’s more important moments, times even Steve hadn’t been able to tell him about, flickered to life before frustratingly slipping away. He’d remembered his second-eldest sister’s wedding, but couldn’t recall her husband’s name or those of her children.

He wondered if he’d recall something more about his past with Steve—something his friend had held back from sharing with Barnes.

Lost in his musings, Barnes instinctively reached for the gun in his boot at the sound of a knock at his door. Gathering himself, he opened his door a crack and peered into the hallway.

His eyes met those of a young, straight-backed girl with long braids. She smiled at him, ignoring his obvious wariness, and pulled him out of his suite.

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes. My brother tells me that you have come for our help?”

Despite her youth, the girl held her head high and exuded confidence in her abilities. Barnes nodded, eyeing her hand on his metal arm uncomfortably.

She inspected the prosthetic speculatively, then lifted her head back up to beam at him. “This tech is absolutely ancient! After we get your memories back, I’ll make you something from _this_ century.”

In spite of himself and all he had done, Barnes smiled back.

⎊ ⎊ ⎊

“FRIDAY, display the video transcript next to the voice analysis results.”

Tony ran his hand through his hair for the sixth time, his eyes scanning the report on the tablet in front of him. He couldn’t deny it any longer; the man in the video was—will be—him.

When he’d started the video for the first time, he thought it was his doppelgänger. Tony could believe that Peter was from the future with a bit more evidence, but the idea that _Tony_ could have a family, a _daughter_ , with Pepper was ridiculous. He only entertained that sort of idea when he was more than halfway into a bottle of Scotch.

However, as he reached the end of the message and watched the man dissolve into tears as he spoke to Peter, his lost kid, Tony knew this was the other side of Peter’s relief at seeing him alive at Leipzig. Somehow, his future self had traded his life for Peter’s.

And now, despite not knowing the kid sleeping in front of him, despite not knowing how or from _when_ he’d come back in time, Tony and the team would have to help him ensure that whatever had put that haunted look in his eyes didn’t happen.

In spite of the traumatised child (man?) before him and the countless struggles they’d no doubt still have to face, Tony couldn’t help but feel a burgeoning hope that he’d found their salvation for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Sunday!


	6. The Way Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They may be broaching unfamiliar territory, but Peter and Barnes aren't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved reading all your comments, and thanks for all the kudos and bookmarks!
> 
> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it! The plot will start moving forward next chapter, so time's definitely still passing in this story.
> 
> On that note, I will not be posting on Thursday (sorry). I'll be working on Chp 2 of Put Your Hand In Mine (if anyone's read that), so there may be two story updates next weekend :)
> 
> WARNINGS: depression, self-loathing thoughts, spiraling, near-suicidal thoughts/actions
> 
> (if there’s something I missed, PLEASE let me know!)
> 
> POV: 🕷 Peter Parker; ⎊ Tony Stark; ★ James Barnes

🕷 🕷 🕷

  
For a few blissful moments after Peter woke up, he forgot what he had learned last night. As soon as he blinked his eyes sleepily open, though, her name punched through his dazed consciousness.

Morgan Stark.

Peter remained in the bed, trying not to breathe. Why should he, when he was the reason that Mr. Stark’s daughter was _gone_ , vanished, as though she had never existed? He wasn’t stupid (just a _life-ruiner_ , a _murderer_ ), he knew that all the differences he had caused so far would change who she would become. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts—or maybe Mrs. Stark (he’d ruined that too)—may not even have a child, if he messed up (again, even more) and caused their deaths (killed them like he'd killed her).

He relished in the pressure building in his chest, in the desperation of his lungs to draw breath, until they forced his mouth open. As he lay panting, pulling in the air he didn't deserve, he resented his body for betraying him, disobeying his desire for oblivion.

But he had disobeyed Mr. Stark too, hadn't he? Instead of returning to the ground and staying in his neighbourhood, he'd hung onto that space donut and followed Mr. Stark into danger (stupid, _stupid_ )—and for what? When Mr. Star-Lord and those aliens had attacked, he'd been taken hostage. When Thanos appeared on that red planet, he'd been batted aside like a fly. What had he been thinking, staying on that ship? That _Iron Man_ and the wizard would need his help? (All he did was make things worse.)

And the one time, the _one time_ he could have made a difference, he’d failed. He hadn’t gotten the gauntlet off in time, despite Mr. Stark _asking_ for his help, and he’d doomed nearly all of them to a dusty end.

Distantly, he heard the door to his (not his, he had no right to be here) room thud open, followed by quick footsteps approaching him from behind.

 _May_ , he thought, before immediately burying his face in his pillow. She wouldn't be here, she _couldn't_ , because he'd erased her too. The May who'd taken care of him after the ferry, when Mr. Stark had given up on him; the May who'd shouted for _hours_ after finding out about Spider-man, then cried when she thought he was asleep; the May he'd lived with and loved for the past two years—gone in an instant because of _his_ mistake.

He didn't even know if she'd been dusted like he'd been or if she had lived those five ( _five_ ) years without him. They were all they had left—May and Peter against the world—and he'd left her, confused and alone, on Earth while he flew off to play at being a hero.

Lost in his self-loathing, he didn’t realise that someone was behind him until they touched his shoulder lightly.

⎊ ⎊ ⎊

“You up, kid?” Tony tried. “Peter?”

The kid’s breathing had picked up since he’d opened the door, but he didn’t respond to any of Tony’s attempts to elicit a reaction.

Quietly, he went around the bed, trying to get a look at Peter’s face.

 _Oh shit_ , Tony thought. The pillow was damp with tears, and there were more streaming down the part of the kid’s face he could see.

Uncertainly, Tony nudged Peter’s shoulder once again. “Pete. Hey, kid.”

Peter turned his head out of the pillow to stare blankly at Tony, his face lined with tear tracks but otherwise expressionless.

Tony didn’t know what to do next. Pepper—he needed Pepper, she would know how to stop the crying and how to fix the kid—but no. Pepper wasn’t here, and he couldn’t drag her back into this mess. Not after he broke his promise and fell into old habits.

Mustering his dubitable (perhaps non-existent) parental instincts, Tony sat on the edge of Peter’s bed and slowly adjusted himself until he was lying next to the kid. Peter was still staring at him vacantly.

 _Next step, physical contact_. He pushed his arm under the kid’s head, careful not to pull on his curls, and wrapped it around Peter. Peter’s head rested against Tony’s shoulder, and Tony couldn’t help but notice how the kid leaned into him.

They lay there in near-silence for several minutes, interrupted only by their breaths and Peter’s quiet sniffles.

When the kid’s tears abated, Tony took a deep breath and began to speak.

  
★ ★ ★

  
After his first session with Shuri, Barnes was completely exhausted. He had been poked by dozens of needles, prodded with a variety of instruments, and ordered to demonstrate his entire range of physical abilities.

When she had asked him for a sleep study, however, he refused point-blank. Doing her tests and experiments had been enough to put him on edge; letting them continue while he was asleep would set him off.

By that point, several Wakandans had arrived to ask Shuri to prepare herself for some event. After much protesting, the princess acquiesced and stalked out of the room, followed by her... attendants, Barnes supposed.

He’d been unsure of whether he was meant to wait for her return, but the pointed glares of the Dora Milaje stationed in the lab urged him to go on his way. As he trod back to his rooms, Barnes flexed his new prosthesis.

“It’s temporary,” Shuri had promised when she’d attached the thing earlier. “After we complete the tests, I can make a better arm for you.”

The lighter weight would take some getting used to, but Barnes had been prohibited from accessing any training rooms in the palace until HYDRA’s programming had been eliminated. Okoye had told him as much when he’d asked her, and her tone had carried more than a hint of warning against disobeying her rules.

For now, Barnes would remain in his suite—the only area he was allowed to be unsupervised by standing guards. During his sweep for cameras or listening devices, he’d destroyed all of them except for one audio-only bug, which he left in place to appease Okoye and her equally wary comrades.

Meeting the eyes of the guards posted on either end of his hall, Barnes entered his room and shut the door softly behind him.

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes.”

He whirled around, forcing himself not to lunge forward when he saw the king lounging in an armchair.

“T’Challa—uh, is it King T’Challa?” Barnes took measured strides towards his unexpected guest and sat across from him, careful to keep his back against a wall.

King T’Challa chuckled lightly. “Not just yet. My incoronation is in a few hours, but I am afraid that outsiders are not to witness our ceremony.” He looked slightly apologetic.

Barnes shrugged, then realised he should give the king a verbal response. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your traditions, um, Your Majesty. I’m in your debt for the help your sister is providing me.”

“T’Challa is fine, Sergeant. And your gratitude is appreciated.” He rose from his chair and stood with his back straight and his eyes focused on Barnes. “I want to ask you about what we were shown in the HYDRA facility.”

Immediately, Barnes stiffened, his muscles tensing even as he remained seated. “I was under HYDRA’s control at the time, but... I remember them.”

T’Challa shook his head. “I am not asking for you to recount your misdeeds, intentional or not. I merely wish to know whether you believe the Captain will inform Tony Stark about the manner of his parents’ deaths.”

“No.” Barnes replied without hesitation. “One of the others _will_ let enough slip for Stark to know that something’s up, though. Probably Romanoff or Maximoff.”

T’Challa assessed his words, and nodded. “Would you prefer to tell him yourself?” He tilted his head, his tone and expression curious but non-judgemental.

“If I tell him, it won’t just be me who has to deal with that fall-out.” Barnes sighed and dropped his head, allowing his hair to cover his face. “But... I’m hoping that without HYDRA’s programming, I can start making amends for all the deaths I’m responsible for.”

There was silence as T’Challa considered his words. “Do you believe Stark will react violently to this information?”

Barnes looked up and gave T’Challa a half-smile. “I don’t know him well enough to answer that, but Steve thinks he will.”

“He told you as much?”

“No,” Barnes replied, “but Steve was pretty insistent on keeping Stark out of the loop, so that makes the most sense.”

“You refer to the Captain by his given name, but you call the others by their second names.”

Barnes raised a brow at T’Challa’s implicit question. “I’ve known Steve since he was a punk getting beat up in Brooklyn’s alleys.” The corners of his lips turned up in a wry smile. “And I don’t think I ever got your full name, T’Challa, so excuse me for calling you the Panther earlier.”

T’Challa smiled. “At least you did not call me the Cat, as your friend Wilson would have.” He turned towards the door, saying, “Get some rest, Sergeant. If I know my sister, she’ll wake you in a few hours for some more experiments after the ceremony.” With a single nod over his shoulder, the soon-to-be king left Barnes alone in his room.

 _A few hours_. Barnes sighed aloud. Having spent the past half-day in her company, he was sure that T’Challa’s assessment of his sister was right.

He heaved himself out of his chair and ventured into his suite until he arrived at the room furthest away from the listening device he’d left in place.

After a cursory glance around the room and straining his ears to pick up static, Barnes settled himself in the corner opposite from the door and allowed himself to sleep.

  
🕷 🕷 🕷

  
“Alright, kid. First, let me say that you are the clingiest person I know, and not just because of your spidery stickiness.” Mr. Stark paused, probably hoping for a snort or even a grimace, but he remained expressionless.

“Second, I watched that video.”

Peter jolted. He made to pull away from Mr. Stark, but the arm wrapped around him kept him in place.

“I can’t say I know exactly what set you off, but I _am_ sure that your... me would be glad you’re alive. He wouldn’t have done whatever he did if he didn’t l—care about you.“

His eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t let Mr. Stark continue, not without telling him the fullest extent of his crimes. “But... Mor—” he choked, unable to say her name.

Mr. Stark stayed silent, and he resigned himself to embracing solitude once again. He deserved it—how could he let Mr. Stark comfort him after what he’d done?

“Pete, I can’t say anything to make that pain go away. Not just because I’m not that Tony; it’s your own guilt that’s eating you up. Believe me, I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of experience with that.” Mr. Stark let out a snort.

“The point is, kid, you have to let yourself feel the grief and pain and all those other feelings, and then _let them_ push you forward. You‘ve got a second chance here—and that’s something not many get.

“And, Pete...” he hesitated. “I don’t know if it matters to you, but I’ll be on your side. Even if you mess up. So you can count on that.”

Mr. Stark shifted uncomfortably, as though the speech had drained his daily quota of emotions. Before Mr. Stark could pull his arm away and before he could second-guess his own actions, Peter turned onto his side and threw his own arm over Mr. Stark.

 _Thank you_ , he tried to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. Instead, Peter squeezed Mr. Stark in a half-hug, doing his best to convey his gratitude.

Mr. Stark leaned his head back. The silence stretched on until he started talking again. “But, who’s to say that you stopped that future from happening? Even _I_ haven’t cracked time travel yet; you coming back could’ve created a separate timeline, an offshoot of yours. There could even be two little Underoos running around, and...”

As Mr. Stark continued rambling, Peter hid a smile in his mentor’s shirt. He’d let himself feel the guilt and pain and all those other feelings later and try to go on from there.

For now, this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next weekend!

**Author's Note:**

> I love all comments/kudos and accept constructive criticism, but I’d appreciate some kindness in the comments.


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